“I believe there are websites where women advertise for sponsors. Perhaps start there,” she suggested thinly.
“I don’t want a mistress. I want you. Look.” He waved at the plates they hadn’t yet touched. “I can eat plain scrambled eggs and there’s nothing wrong with that, especially when I’m hungry, but if I have the option to eat one poached to perfection, delicately spiced and accompanied by a tempting banquet of other flavors, one that not only sates the appetite but is a joy with every bite, why the hell wouldn’t I want the quality ones?”
“And since you’re used to buying the best, I’m sure you think you can afford the eggs you see in front of you today. In this case, you can’t.”
“I’m very rich.”
“I’d rather go hungry than sell myself.”
He made a noise that was decidedly French. “Forget the metaphors and eat the damned eggs before they go cold.”
After they’d both taken a couple of bites, he said, “I’m never going to marry. Long-term dating, in the traditional sense, is a false promise I won’t make. Women come to me, come on to me, at a steady enough rate that I’ve never lacked for company.”
“I kind of prefer the not calling over this turn of conversation.” She flashed a humorless smile. “Just saying.”
“But if I expect a woman to make herself exclusive to me, I ought to provide something in return.”
“Your charm isn’t enough?” She blinked in fake shock.
“Have you heard of erotic spanking, Cinnia? Some women find it pleasurable and deliberately test a man’s patience with backchat, looking for a hot bottom.” He showed his teeth. “Just saying.”
Wicked, evil man. For one second, she thought about that. Started to blush, and told herself to smarten up.
“You want it straight, Henri?” she challenged, stomach twisting. “Not shaken nor stirred? Fine.”
She seemed to have no pride where he was concerned anyway. She dropped back in her chair and gave him a hate-filled glare for forcing her to bring up the pathetic mistakes of her past.
“I told you my father left his estate in a mess. We were in dire straits, actually. Really dire. Mum and my sisters have a hard time seeing it, especially Mum. She has this throwback notion that if one of us marries well, all our problems will be solved. You asked me last night what happened with my ex-boyfriend. That’s what happened.”
“He was rich and didn’t want to marry you?”
“Exactly. Except that we’d been poor together, struggling through school and scrambling for rent every month for a year when we moved here to the city. I was actually the one making more money for the first while. I thought we were in love and that we would get married. Then his folks sold a piece of property and said they were going to split the money between their children. It was a few hundred thousand each, enough to make a nice down payment on a good home. I honestly thought he was being cagey for the weeks following the sale because he was shopping for an engagement ring and planning how to propose.”
“Non?” He was holding on to a very neutral tone, betraying nothing of what he might be thinking.
“Hell, no! He was telling his parents to hold off doling out his portion so I couldn’t put a claim on it, then he siphoned off half of what was in our shared accounts and kicked me out of our flat the day we were supposed to renew the lease.”
She looked at her eggs and knew Avery had been dry, white toast at best while Henri was a mouthwatering croissant.
“I know my family is a handful. I know Mum came on strong when she learned his news. She was on the phone calling local churches that day. She flat out told him he should sink his money into her house and said we should move in with her. I never would have let that happen, though. I’ll never live with her again if I can help it. She makes me bananas.”
She crossed her legs and adjusted the fall of the robe, noting her hand was trembling. She was trying hard to keep a grip, but she still felt so stupid. She had thought Avery loved her and it had shaken her confidence in herself, in her belief that she could judge a character and even in her belief that she was lovable. Her voice quavered with old emotion and she couldn’t seem to steady it.
“Even though he had known me all that time, he wrote me off as only wanting his bank balance. He said I had always known his parents were sitting on that potential, that I had known money would come to him, and that everything I had done was a calculated investment in getting a piece of it. I did know about it. I had counseled his parents on whether it was better to sell the land before their death or leave it as part of their estate. Because he asked me to. And I didn’t charge them, by the way. Friends-and-family discount.” She picked up her fork and stabbed her egg and watched the yolk bleed out.
Henri reached for his phone and said very casually, “What is his name?”
“Jerkface McPants on Fire. Don’t bother ordering a hit. He’s not worth the bullet.”
He set down his phone again. “This is why you’re so sensitive about letting me buy you a meal or a dress?”
“Or a hotel room or a favor with my boss or a rental agreement as a mistress. I earn my keep, Henri. I refuse—I absolutely refuse—to become a kept woman. I’m aiming to start my own agency. I will not work my butt off to succeed only to have people say it’s because I was sleeping with a sexy French tycoon.”
“My sisters are constantly accused of succeeding with their design house because Sauveterre International underwrote it. Do you know how they respond to that accusation?”
“How?”
“By ignoring it. You do not owe explanations to anyone. You certainly don’t have to justify yourself to McFacey man. Stop worrying about what he thinks of you. As for opening an agency, I encourage you to send us a business plan regardless of the terms you and I negotiate for our personal partnership. Ramon and I are investors. We invested in Maison des Jumeaux because Trella wrote a solid plan that has exceeded all of our expectations. If yours shows promise, we may extend you a start-up loan. It won’t be nepotism. We do not offer friends-and-family discounts. When it comes to money, neither of us is influenced by sentiment or sexual infatuation. That’s why we’re rich.”
He was not joking.
She was crushed by his reduction of her to a sexual infatuation, but suffered an immediate urge to knock his socks off with her business acumen, wanting to secure a loan from him simply for the achievement of it.
She murmured, “I’ll think about it,” and returned to eating.
He made short work of his plate and freshened their coffee.
“I like the idea of you working for yourself,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I have a very busy life. It would be hard to find time to be together if you had a strict workweek.”
“I love the way you talk like I’m going to agree to be your—oh!” She leaned forward with mock delight. “Let’s use the French term, shall we? Courtisane.”
He gave her a flat look that grew into a considering one.
“An educated woman who values herself and her time? One who is not ashamed of her sex drive? Is that you, Cinnia?”
She sat back. “You’re trying to make it sound like that’s all it is. It’s not.”
“No, it’s potentially quite complicated. But seeing as you are so smart, walk through this with me. I am based in Paris, but I travel to New York at least once a month. I have an office here in London. I could work some of my time out of it, perhaps one week a month. Ramon and I would like to expand into Asia, but we’re already stretched thin. And I occasionally drop everything to